Whither my dither?
And from whence? It
comes from focus, from
obsession, from lack
of limits on myself.
Grabbing issues, tick-like,
never to let go until they're
drained dry. Resembling
mad scientists in old
movies, eyes-a-poppin'!
Discussions become
arguments; paying bills
sends me on trips into
financial rabbit-holes
where accountants fear
to tread. My mind, honed
razor-sharp cuts anything
in its path. Too bad if it's
me, too bad if it's you.
Something seems near-
guaranteed to blow.
Comfort or habit? Can't
tell, but it promises
familiarity, which
brings confidence
(deserved or not).
66/100
“One hundred poems in one hundred days!” (but my sense of time is fluid)
two-thirds to being there
all the voices in my head 